


Complicit

by baethoven



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Intoxication, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baethoven/pseuds/baethoven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No matter what Hamilton had implied about him, Thomas was not a stupid man. He could easily follow the path Hamilton’s implications went down. Maybe when he was more sober, in the unrelenting light of day, he would have realized where this was going and ushered Hamilton out into the night. He would go on in his life, battling with him and perhaps thinking in the back of his mind that maybe their tension was born out of more than just politics."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complicit

No matter what Aaron Burr had later insinuated to him, Thomas Jefferson had merely been a facilitator when it came to the changing of the Capitol. He had arranged the dinner, but had left the majority of the talking to Madison. Thomas preferred in this one instance to quietly sit back and let the words flow between Hamilton and Madison, as he watched over his wine.

Hamilton, for once, showed restraint in his temperament; or, as much as he could. _Is it presidential pressure_ , Thomas had wondered to himself, _or maybe desperation_? Whatever the reason, a more subdued and tactical Hamilton sat before him. His voice remained level for most of the conversation, barely wavering in timbre or raising in volume. It was as if a different person sat before him. The dissonance between the man Jefferson had sparred with before and the one sitting across from him left Thomas uncomfortable. He could not resolve the two.

Occasionally, when Madison was dominating the conversation, trying to bargain away what he could of Congress’ allowance in Hamilton’s debt plan, Hamilton would shift his gaze to Thomas, as if anticipating an interjection of some kind. His face was placid, or at least a mask of placidity, but the set of his eyes, and the way the candle light shifted in his violet irises and casted shadows across his face, gave Thomas the impression of a predator at wait. It left Thomas’ hairs on end, but it also left him, against his better judgment, intrigued.

The deal was eventually made, and awkward toasts were exchanged. All three shook hands, and some of the tension seemed to seep out of the room. For now, the situation had been defused.

“I’m going to excuse myself now, gentleman,” Madison eventually drawled after his glass of wine had been emptied. Thomas stood, alongside Hamilton, to wish him farewell. Thomas looked to Hamilton, expecting him to say his goodbyes as well and melt into the night, but he did not. So Madison left, and the door was shut behind them.

Hamilton seated himself again, this time besides Thomas, and poured them another glass.

“So,” the younger man began, “You have your Capitol.”

“And you have your bank,” Thomas replied.

“So where does this leave us?” Hamilton asked. It was curiously said, with tone that implied there was more going on beneath his veneer than Hamilton was letting on.

“What do you mean, Mr. Secretary?” Thomas asked.

For a moment, Hamilton was quiet. He leaned back in his chair, the image of a man relaxed. It was a jarring sight. Hamilton was usually rigid, on edge and always anticipating some sort of attack. For a man with such cutting words, he constantly projected defensiveness. Thomas had wondered if it was because he was an immigrant, and felt misplaced and unwelcomed. But here this man sat in his room, his form melting into the chair, looking like he owned the place.

“I mean, are you and I at a truce now?” Hamilton asked. A wicked sort of smile spread on his face for a moment, as if he already knew the answer.

Thomas could not stop the laugh that bubbled out of him. The wine had damped the flames of indignation that usually sat at the base of his spine and flared out through him when Hamilton was in the room.

“Mr. Hamilton,” he finally sighed out, “I would not call this a truce. We’ll be at each other’s throats within a week.”

Hamilton laughed too, and shook his head.

“At each other’s throats,” he spoke after a sigh, “now there’s an image.”

Thomas looked up at the words, and met Hamilton’s eyes. He tried to conjure up the picture in his head that Hamilton must have been imagining.

“Choking each other, while Washington sighs in exasperation?” Thomas asked. Hamilton chuckled again, and shook his head.

“Something like that,” he said, and his smile widened just a bit more.

No matter what Hamilton had implied about him, Thomas was not a stupid man. He could easily follow the path Hamilton’s implications went down. Maybe when he was more sober, in the unrelenting light of day, he would have realized where this was going and ushered Hamilton out into the night. He would go on in his life, battling with him and perhaps thinking in the back of his mind that maybe their tension was born out of more than just politics.

His judgment may have been impaired, but his opportunistic spirit had not, and Hamilton was sitting beside him with dark eyes and mouth that had a thousand challenges on them, waiting to be spoken or taken.

“Mr. Jefferson,” Hamilton said in a drawn out voice, “how do I know you aren’t going to go back on your agreement when you leave this room?”

“You don’t, I suppose,” Thomas said. “Is my word not good enough?”

Hamilton rolled his eyes. “Your words have been against me for all this time, so no.”

Thomas nodded. “That they have. So what would be better than my words?”

Hamilton looked at him for a moment, holding his gaze. His playful smile melted away and his eyes darkened. Thomas stared back, until the younger man finally leaned to him and placed a hand on his thigh.

“Your actions,” he murmured.

What more of an invitation did Thomas need?

Thomas had never considered himself a particularly physical man.  So much of his life had been spent on mental pursuits; writing, debating, and learning all that he could. He did find enjoyment in the physical when the opportunities presented themselves. Good food and good wine could stir in him a sort of happiness that good words could not always reach. The soft breezes at Monticello that blew over his skin and brought the summertime scents of sage and tobacco would calm him bone deep. A willing bed mate, with soft breasts and tumbling locks of hair could bring about stimulation more pleasant that conversational intercourse.

So when he reached his hands out to Hamilton, one on his shoulder and the other wrapped behind his neck, Thomas felt a physical power in him that was not normally there. He dragged the man to him, half out of his chair, and brought their lips together. The kiss was kindling to the fire that always burned in him when Hamilton was around. It was dry wood that erupted into flames, that sent sparks bursting hazardously from the confines that had been so ardently built. Hamilton kissed like no other person had kissed; with a ferocity that spoke of his frustrations, that communicated a passion that was not romantic but was still just as desperate.

Hamilton was never satisfied, and soon his hands began to wander across Thomas’ frame. He blazed a trail across his chest, down his flank and around to his back. Wherever his fingers dragged, Thomas was left burning. The younger man ventured his mouth away from Thomas’ lips and straight to his ear. He bit at the junction of his neck and ear, quickly followed by a swipe of his tongue. Thomas did not try to fight the moan it wrangled out of him.

“Thomas,” he sighed into his ear, “we are both complicit, you know.”

“What?” Thomas asked, slowed by the fog of arousal.

“If you imply to anyone that I got on my knees and begged for my bank,” he said, “everyone will know you were just a willing to get on yours.”

It should have insulted him, really, but it only made him grab at Hamilton more. Thomas knew what this was, knew it the moment Hamilton had looked at him with those violet eyes. He knew he was signing a pact with the devil and did not care one bit if it meant he would be silencing himself. The opportunity to lay waste to Hamilton’s body, to show him his frustrations rather than speak them was something he could not pass on.

“Are you asking me to get on my knees, Alexander?” he huffed out in reply.

Before he could get an answer, Thomas slid off his chair, and looked up at the man. He must have been a sight, because Hamilton’s eyes were dark and hooded. A flush had crept up his neck and had stained his cheeks, and his pupils were blown wide open.

Thomas was no stranger to this, though he would never readily admit it. He had his encounters with friends after evenings of drinking, had experienced the more liberal inclinations of France. He may not have been particularly adept when it came to doling out those kinds of pleasures, but he at least knew what he liked when he received them. He reached out for Alexander, and let his palm curve over the erection that pressed against his breeches. Alexander sighed as if all the air in his body was leaving him, and Thomas took this as permission enough to proceed.

“Always so confident,” Thomas murmured as he leaned forward, “and now I can see why.”

Thomas then mouthed around the outline of the other man’s cock, and nuzzled his nose against him. He inhaled and smelled the earthy scent of arousal and felt the heat that was rolling off Hamilton in thick waves. It was intoxicating; it gave Thomas a sort of power he had been wishing he had over Hamilton for some time.

He reached up and undid Hamilton’s breeches and freed him from his confines. With a sureness that was sure to betray to the other man that he had in fact done this before, Thomas gripped Hamilton’s cock at its base. It was thick, and instead of intimidating him, it made Thomas more eager. Without much preamble, he brought Hamilton’s cock to his mouth and enveloped him.

A soft thud came from above him, and Thomas glanced up to see Hamilton’s head leaned back. His body was coiled with tension and his back arched. Encouraged, Thomas began to bob his head, slowly sliding his tongue around the length of Hamilton’s cock and bringing as much of the man within him as he could bare. In and out he went, with his hand taking control every now and then while his tongue would be occupied with the sensitive spot at the tip. Hamilton quickly disposed of any politeness and tangled his hands into Thomas’ hairs, knotting themselves as he tried to hold onto some sort of control. But Thomas was unyielding, and would not alter his pace to Hamilton’s liking. It left the man above him squirming and moaning in desperation.

“Thomas,” he sighed with the fervor of a praise (or curse) “please.”

Thomas drew himself off of Hamilton’s cock with the slow drag of his lips.

“Use your words, Alexander,” he chided. “You’re always so fond of them.”

“Fuck, Thomas,” Alexander groaned out in frustration, “please, I cannot take anymore.”

“That’s all you had to say,” Thomas said cheekily, and returned to his task with doubled efforts. The moan he was rewarded with sent a wild sort of desire racing through him.

It did not take long after that. Alexander tried to warn him, tugging on his hair more urgently and bucking his hips, but Thomas took no note and charged forward. When Alexander realized Thomas’ intentions, he shuddered and let out a small ‘oh’, like Thomas’ willingness to take all of him had been more pleasurable than the act itself. When he finally came, Thomas’ eagerly swallowed around him, taking in the vibrations of his orgasms and feeling a primal dominance at being able to reduce the great Alexander Hamilton to incoherent babbling.

When he finally drew himself off Alexander, his body was thrumming with the pain of having knelt on the floor for some time and the equally persistent ache of an unattended erection. He freed himself as quickly as he could, and tried to alleviate the problem, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at Alexander, and saw the haze of orgasm had not yet settled on the man. Alexander’s face was set with determination, and soon Thomas was laid out on his back with the younger man atop of him.

“Allow me,” Alexander asked in mock politeness, and lowered his head to return the favor.

“By all means,” Thomas sighed out. “Do what you must.”

               


End file.
